


Mark 63 needs an emergency release button.

by Bishmonster



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bad guy dies, Blood, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Romanov: Mother Hen, Protective Tony Stark, Stream of Consciousness, Tony Stark Freeform, Violence, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bishmonster/pseuds/Bishmonster
Summary: There is violence and then there is the aftermath. Ok, so the shower came first.I suck at summaries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of watching the final episode of the first season of Preacher. And then it was four a.m. Idk what had happened.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck was this? This couldn't be right. To see bruises on her face, to see her wild hair matted with some… substance. No way was this a thing. No way could this be real. He couldn't believe his own eyes. Blink. Blink. Blink. Still there. Still strange and ... and... shocking? The kind of shocking that made him want to shout but also maybe it made him wish the real Jarvis was still alive so he could ask him for advice. What to do? How to deal? Were his eyes deceiving him? All of these things like flash cards in his head, making his temple pound and his heart beat erratic. She didn't look to be doing much better. She was saying nothing. No quips. No snark. No wide generous smile and it hurt physically to see her blank faced, pale and dirty. She needed cleaning and the water turned pink with the blood from her hands. That's what it was in her hair. Blood. Thick and drying. Metallic in a way he would never get used to. The shop sink wasn't going to work. Coulson was giving him the eye. He got the hint. Tony guided her to the elevator. Darcy didn't protest. Once again she didn't resist or make a joke. She just followed and that pit in the bottom of his stomach since the invasion grew into a chasm.

Modesty wasn't an issue. Once she saw the shower and the running water Jarvis had prepared, not too hot and not too cold, she dropped trou. Darcy shucked the ugly cable knit sweater and the jean skirt. She peeled off the torn tights and kicked her Docs off haphazardly. It was the least sexy thing he had ever seen in his whole life and he would pay substantial money to never ever see it again. To never ever let her be in this situation again. The dead look in her eyes. The jerky movements. The small voice asking for the water to be warmer. Warmer. Warmer. Until steam was rising and her pale goose bumped flesh turned pink. She stood under the water letting it slush off her, rising away the blood and gore that came from gutting a man with sharp metal scrap. She was to be applauded for her ingenuity if he didn't want to vomit so very badly.

Darcy picked up the soap and tried. She tried real hard. The kind of tried that made her eyes well with tears. Her fingers wouldn't work. She said it dully. Monotone and… robotic? Tony didn't hesitate. He didn't even disrobe. He joined her under the scalding water and picked up the soap. There were no innuendos to be heard. No snickers or side eyes and that probably hurt the worst. He started with her hair. Tony put the bar of soap away and got the shampoo. It took three washings before the water ran clear. She wanted him to scrub. Hard. To wash it all away. To cleanse her of the memory but he wouldn't. Not even when she begged. Not even when she started to cry and beat her small fists into his wet t shirt. The thumping in tandem with his heartbeat. The shampoo smelled like citrus. He tried not to think too hard about how her hair would smell like him. Next came the conditioner and he made her wait before rinsing it out. Tony asked if she wanted him to bathe her. He took the non-answer for a yes and gently, thoroughly, remotely soaped up her body. The water stayed hot until she felt clean. Until her hair was rinsed. Until he got her out ignoring the soaked state of his own clothing and had her wrapped in his favorite robe, with a fluffy towel wrapped around her hair.

Darcy stood, swaying and not paying any attention as he plopped his wet clothing on the bathroom tile. As he found another robe and towel. Tony tried to be quick. He tried to not take his eyes off of her as he ducked back into the shower to get clean. Less than a minute and he was back. Her face had pinked from the steam of the shower but her eyes were still the empty vastness from before, the skin swollen and darkening.

Tony steered her to the bedroom. Someone, he suspected Natasha, the mother hen, had brought up a can of coke, a cup of hot cocoa, a bottle of water. There was also a tumbler of scotch and two sandwiches, ham with swiss, with tomato, all lined up like little soldiers. Maybe it was the Captain. He would know about battle shock. He would be aware this was Darcy's first real fight. Hand to hand and not just about waving some magic sticks around. But no, Tony was sure it was Natasha. The spy had taken a clear interest in Darcy. Had been found, more than once, hanging out together. Not to train or to teach but as friends. The kind of friends HBO made movies about. Tony sat Darcy on the end of the bed. He tried the cocoa first, tasting it himself to test the heat. Definitely Natasha then, the cocoa was heavy handed with whiskey  
.  
Darcy took a sip, her eyes trained on him. She really was very beautiful. Classic and exotic. A dark haired imp with great cheekbones and generous lips. He brushed it off. The desire. The intrigue. Because she did intrigue him. In a way like Pepper but more because she was so... giving and sweet and ballsy. The way she had eviscerated that thug. Justin Hammer's infantry come to kidnap Tony again. She had been a warrior in those moments when he had been restrained inside his suit. With him dead from the EMP, she had been a goddess bent on fury fueled by outrage. The way she had torn the man away from Tony, had struggled and fought dirty, the way she had learned growing up. A foster kid with no one to protect her. a fierce little thing unbroken and wild.

Tony was afraid she had finally cracked. Her unresponsiveness was scaring the shit out of him. The empty stare was unnerving and setting his teeth on edge. The brilliant blue of her eyes over the rim of her black coffee cup made all the goosebumps on his skin come out to play. Tony wanted to turn from her. to protect himself. to hide. Darcy looked like she could see all his hidden parts. And she was not impressed. It's just the shock. She's in shock. Her skin was back to being pale and waxy. He told her to get under the covers. To stay warm. She obeyed and again he was unnerved by her lack of resistance. Tony traded her the bottle of water. The pale hand with knuckles bloodied and bruised. She had fought so hard. Much harder than he had thought her capable of and she had taken a beating. Tony thought about taking her to medical. To get her checked out. To make sure she was ok, at least. He knew about the shock but couldn't tell if she was seriously injured or not. She only shook her head when he asked. Tony sighed and made sure she was taking slow sips of the water.

Pajamas were necessary. For both of them. He wasn't about to leave her alone. Not when she was like this. Not when he was worried she was going to take off. Jane had said it was a thing that happened. When Darcy got overwhelmed. When the world was too big or the pressure too heavy. Darcy was good at running away. Good at hiding. Good at looking out for her own neck. She had looked out for his. Had purposely stood between him and absolute danger and she had paid a price higher than anyone should have expected of her. Tony wasn't complaining. He was alive. She was alive. And thug number 43 was dead and bled out on the workshop floor. The body had long since been removed but the memory of it was burned into his retinas. Trapped as he was in the suit. He hadn't been able to turn away. Hadn't been able to step in to help. To take the burden for her. It was his only regret. For this to hang over her head. A powerful stigma to a civilian. An assistant. A former intern. A goddess of war and beauty. Breasts heaving beneath her ugly garment. Mouth parted after the final scream. Blood splattered marring her clear skin. Tony made note to burn her clothing. He would make sure she never saw them again. He never wanted to see that much blood near her body ever again. Tony wanted to keep her safe and warm and sane. He tucked the blankets around her body and changed as quick as he could. Ok. So maybe pajamas were just going to be a thing for him because she made a small noise and suddenly she was flooding with hot drops of tears. Alice-ing his wonderland. Tony climbed into bed to cuddle her. He had no idea how to do it but she didn't care. She flung herself as hard as she could at him until he was flat on his back and being used as teddy bear. She made the noise again. Tony sang to her, the songs he could remember from his mother before his dad's influence was too heavy handed. He hummed at her and rocked as best he could until she quieted. Lips and chin quivering. Alone tear dropped from her nose to his stomach. She wore herself out. Darcy stopped shaking shortly after her crying jag. He couldn't be more relieved to feel her go lax and pliant in his arms. Tony thought about letting her go. Getting out of bed. Dealing with the cleanup and the reports. Always the goddamn reports. He missed Pepper. She always took care of the reports. But also Japan was the place to be. The place to schmooze. The place to build and Tony only found himself missing her in regards to her assistance and not missing her with any romantic notions involved. Their relationship was better as a working one. Her long hours and his crazy just did not mix very well. Tony found he had buried his hands into Darcy's dark and damp curls. She made a noise like a whimper and he pulled her closer. Too close for someone who was fifteen years older and her boss. He wondered if maybe he was attracted to her because of the dichotomy of their positions. Like with pepper. He compared the two woman and while there was some similarities. The way they handled the details. The way they were good at manipulating him when he was difficult. The patience and the beauty. Tony was very aware of how different they were.

  
Darcy was a wild rose, growing and thriving where she could. She was sturdy and she thrived when she shouldn't be able to. Plus she was absolutely the most vulgar and sweetest girl he had ever met in his life. And Pepper was Pepper. Capable. Beautiful. And in the end, unable to bend where he wouldn't break. He would always love pepper but he couldn't be in love with her. Not when she refused to understand him. Not when she didn't want to listen. Darcy had listened. Had known and understood even before they had met, what he needed. What made him tick. She had never once told him what he did was stupid or dangerous or unnecessary. That he was too old or too breakable. That he was killing himself. Darcy knew he wasn't trying to die. He was trying to protect. To defend. Natasha had talked about the red in her ledger, how she needed to balance that out. Yeah. Tony knew all about that. Knew about the guilt and the responsibility and the unrelenting 'you can do better' that echoed in his head well past the time when he should be sleeping.

Darcy knew and understood and never ever failed to show her support. And tonight? Well, tonight she had saved his life in a very violent and intimate way. He would do everything in his power to make sure she came out of this as sane and as whole and as steady as she had been that very morning, sipping overly sugared coffee and shooting spitballs at Mark 63 to see how fast his reflexes were. How she laughed manically when he had chased her out of the shop. How she had sweet talked Jarvis into playing the soundtrack from Nightmare before Christmas when she got tired of Heavy Metal. His sweet and sassy Darcy. Tony spent the night, awake and stroking her hair. She slept like the dead. Pale cheeked even with the shiner finally blooming. That bastard. There were also marks on her neck. The guy had tried to choke her. Tried to snuff the light out of her. Tony had seen the life fading from her eyes as he screamed and raged trying to get out of the suit. He needed to institute a failsafe. EMPs were becoming more and more popular and Mark 63 was just too sturdy for him to fight his way out of. He hadn't been able to reach her, could only watch in horror as she grabbed the jagged piece of metal he kept around for no goddamn reason. His yells went unheard as she jammed the scrap into the thug’s belly and pulled it up until he let her go. She was absolutely drenched in the cloying redness. The spray had covered every available surface, until his shop, his workbench looked like a bad horror movie set. Texas Chainsaw Massacre style.

She had stood frozen, her face open and eyes wide. Tony renewed his struggles. Darcy came to him then with a drill. Had opened the suit herself. Had tugged him out without a sound and then had sat down on the stool like her legs couldn't bear to hold her weight for one second longer. Tony couldn't blame her. He rebooted up Jarvis. Called Fury and the team. Called Coulson as much as he hadn't wanted to. Coulson had arrived first, followed by the Captain and Natasha. Coulson had glared them out until the only thing he could hear was the soft sounds of their footfalls on the carpet. He had been right to take her home. To a safe place, where he could care for her.

Dawn was happening. Tony had Jarvis open the drapes enough for him to see. Darcy didn't stir. She was going to have to move soon. He was a grown ass man. He was not going to wet the bed. But for now he didn't mind holding it. Holding her. Keeping her safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember writing most of this and am now pretending I'm Hemingway.

Liquor was a haven. The kind of safe place a man like him could hide in. A wet and warm glass of scotch wasn't the answer but it was a blanket, blocking him from the harsh realities of all the things he never accomplish or gained approval for. And there she was, with him. Drunk and sloppy and quite possibly the only person that could reach his level without regret or blame. Beautiful. She was beautiful and important and she tasted like Jameson. Not his drink of choice but she enjoyed it and he would do anything to see her smile at him again, even if it was a tired drunk grin and she couldn't say chrysanthemum without experiencing frustration.

If he were a braver man, he would kiss her. And not imagine. To kiss her. The way she deserved. Slow and Sweet and Dirty. With tongue. And teeth. And hard. Hard enough to feel the force of it. To hear her sweet breath and her moans and the way she begged him for more like she begged that intern before they broke up because he could appreciate a woman of her caliber. A woman with a strong head on her shoulders and an actual facts backbone. His Darcy was strong. So very strong it made him pause. Even when she was screaming and clawing her way out of the nightmares, she was a force of nature. A stalwart tree. An unbreakable thing.

She should've given in by now. Thrown in the towel. Begged for mercy. Cried herself into a dark hole of depression. But she didn't. She wouldn't. Natasha helped. Showed up in the middle of the night and drug her out of the Tower for a run or for vodka. Tony hadn't found a pattern yet. Jarvis didn't consider it snitching. He was concerned as far as his AI could be. Darcy was a friend. A compatriot. An ally. Jarvis's reports on Darcy's activities were part of the protocol of keeping all of Tony's friends and allies safe. Darcy never had to know.

It was nearly 3 in the morning. Nearly the witching hour. Tony was awake as usual. He never slept before four. Not anymore. She would show soon. Like clockwork his enigma. She would knock, loud and sloppy drunk. She would stumble in and bump into something expensive. He would catch it and her, depending on how drunk she was. Sometimes, Darcy showed only slightly drunk. Just enough for her to try to pick a fight with him. Just enough for the guilt to be just below the surface. Darcy was a civilian for a reason. She couldn't deal with the blood on her hands. Not with her pacifist heart. Not with her gentle nature. Shit. She tried to save the animals during an alien invasion. It was absurd for anyone to expect her to deal logically with taking a man's life. Which was why he never, ever called her on the new behavior. The drinking. The temper. The anger. Bruce helped, as much as he could but only Tony was able to contain her. Able to calm her ass down before she did something truly destructive. It helped that she sought him out. It helped that she came to him now. Unlike the first week when she avoided him like the plague. When he was pretty sure Natasha had taken her on a bender and kept her good and drunk until both women were able to handle the whole deal. Until Darcy slept more than three hours at a time and Natasha was able to let the brunette out of her sight for more than an hour. Until Fury had forcibly separated the women by sending Natasha on a deeply classified mission, taking Cap and Hawkeye with her into the depths of the Russian nations.

Tony didn't try to think to hard about it and he learned to accept a wobbly and teary eyed Darcy Lewis on his proverbial door step, begging him for a bed partner in a strictly frustrating platonic nature. Every night. Every damn night she was in his bed. Sleeping. In the thinnest and barest of clothing. Curled up and vulnerable and tempting. Mumbling and shaking in her sleep. Clinging just before he got up to take care of body functions like waste and hunger. She cried sometimes, calling out his name. Clutching his shoulders in a way that belied her aversion to his presence during the day.

She had transferred. Moved to Bruce's lab with nary an explanation. And he let her. He hadn't protested as much as he missed her. As hard as it was to see her taking the same route he had when things got tough. This was the way they were so much alike. The common ground people question. He couldn't judge her for making the same decisions. Not when he agreed. Not when it was so close to home. So he never turned her away when she sought his company. To sleep. To feel safe. To curl up into his bed and count his breaths until she drifted off. Sensitive to sound and hyperaware anytime he moved. Tony never questioned curling around her. Smothering her with his presence so she would never ever doubt his safety. Which was what it all came down to.

She cared. The way Jane had never dreamt she could. The way Thor had warned against. Tony was deeply aware of the depth of her affection. Had seen the desperation to save him when the Justin Hammer's thugs had infiltrated the Tower. When she had killed a man hellbent on taking Tony down. No matter how much she protested. No matter how much she denied. There was no doubt, she cared about him. Tony refused to hold it against her. Refused to bait her or tease. He never spoke of it. Not even to his therapist. Not even to Pepper. How she came to him. How she clung like a vine. Fresh and thorny. Tony never questioned the urge to curl around her. To be the big spoon. To protect her from the world and dreams. The dreams were the worst. making her shake and moan in the most nonsexual way. Darcy never remember. Or she never admitted and he had learned to never question her. Not even when it burned his tongue to hold it. Never when his gut was screaming at him to Know. To Learn. To Help. He just couldn't. Because he already knew. Already was familiar with the guilt of taking a life. In a way an Assassin never could. In the way a soldier wouldn't recognize. In the way a hulk could forget and the scientist couldn't grasp. In the way a berserker would thrive. Tony knew what it meant to take a life. To want to strip the skin off his hands until they were clean again. To want to atone. To be better. To work harder. He understood exactly how Darcy felt.

He wanted to make it better. He wanted to protect her. Even if it was from herself.  
She was crying again. Soft cheeks round and wet. The pain and fear was in the air, tainting the fresh bed linens. Painting the room grey and grainy with it like and old 8 ml burning in the reels. Tony touched her shoulder. Shook her until those blue eyes shone like diamonds in the darkened bedroom. He loathed her wake her but he couldn't see her suffer anymore. Just couldn't take it anymore. Her pain was his. A vise on his chest not unlike the heaviness of the reactor. He hated it. He loved her. He wanted to tell her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to hold her close like a lover. Wanted to smell her citrus scent, the one he made sure she received in an anonymous gift basket. His shampoo. His conditioner. His soap. The softest of Loofa's the sweetest of lotions. He loved when she remembered to pamper herself. When she smelled like him. When he could smell her neck and Know exactly what else caressed her skin. Tony knew he was sick man. Obsessing about the intern. Cuddling through the nightmares. Holding back her hair while she hung her head heavily over the toilet.

Tony wanted her. Worse than he ever wanted anything ever. Even Pepper. Even Howard's approval. It was a familiar to want something. It was foreign to believe he would never have it. Because that's what this was. A thing he could never have. A woman who cared about him. A woman he would never and could never take advantage of. Because touching her in this condition, when she was barely holding hold, when she was rarely sober, would be taking advantage. Would be worse than morally ambiguous and straight into the wrong fucking thing to do. Even when she rut against him, asleep and safe, round ass pushing into his dick. Soft and smelling of his soap. He was so fucking tempted. So sweet and cuddly and sexy as hell. Tony would never touch her that way. Couldn't take that one morsel of innocence from her and ruin more of her. Not even when she begged.

Like she was doing now.

Dawn was coming and Tony was taken back to the first night when he held her this way. When it was bad but it wasn't the worst yet. Before she was constantly bloodshot and slurring with it. Before she had lost her will and ambition. Before she was this broken husk of guilt and sleeplessness. Tony realized she had lost weight. Her face gaunt and hallow. Her eyes dull and her hair lank with grease and lack of nutrients. The products he bought for her only doing so much. How had he not noticed? How had he let it get this bad? How had he not seen the bones in cheeks straining through the pale skin. The chapped lips and the bold teeth. The slim waist slimmer and her wrist like bird bones. Tony held her at arms length. Held her tight but not close. Trying to keep that last bit of distance. To not take advantage.

He couldn't. He shouldn't. He just wasn't strong enough. She was everything he wanted and everything he never knew he needed and she was breaking apart in sobs and snot in his arms. He wanted to help her. He wanted to take her away. He wanted to push her as far away as possible and he never wanted to have her far from his sight. Tony held out. Longer than he thought he was capable of. Longer than a man of his particular reputation should ever be expected. Especially when she threw her shirt into the dark of the bedroom. When she grabbed his calloused hands and forced his to cup her breasts. Her lips spoke nothing but pleas and her body pressed against him, sternum to ankle.  
He drank her in like the richest of Brandy's. Heady and exciting and absolutely the worst thing for him. Goddamn she was soft. Touchable and inviting and when she grabbed his hand and shoved it down her own pants, wet and welcoming. He didn't have to work hard until she was cresting. Coming apart over his fingers and panting. She lost awareness for a moment. Long enough for him to doubt again. Long enough for his skin to grow cold and his dick to soften. She moaned incoherently. How drunk was she? Surely she had sobered up since she got there. Hours ago. Stumbling and sweet. Smile just as wide as he could ever remember it but with a somberness that was a part of her now.

Tony drew back, to let her sleep it off but she clung to him again, pulled him down until he was the shield against the night, the dark. She fumbled with his pants, eased his dick out. He was already chubbing again. Her hands were soft and her eyes eclipsed the world. His nightmares. Darcy stroked him, slow and unsure until that tether, the one connected to his good will and morality, broke. Her pants would not survive. Tony was strong. Stronger than anyone gave him credit for. They never paid attention. Never looked at the muscles of his arms or his strong thighs. It was one of Tony’s best kept secrets. The sound of the tearing seams was incredibly loud, a sharp contrast to her surprised gasp when he buried his head between her thighs. She arched the way woman do when they aren't sure if the pleasure is pain quite yet, her bony fingers pulling his hair. He licked her, tasted her very essence. Teased her and tried his very best to fuck her with his tongue. He wanted to do all the things. To see her break apart for him over and over because he wasn't sure if he was ever going to have this opportunity again. Her pleas were soundless, all breath and all desperate as he did his best to devour her. When she screamed his name he eased up to gentle soothing laps. Tony had to hold her down as she bucked through the aftershocks. He was fully hard again. Raging hard and it was difficult to concentrate. She was hot to the touch and soaking wet when he slipped inside her. Darcy closed her eyes and whimpered, sensitive. He went slow, rocking against her fully laid out and holding her head still. He kissed her the way he had been dreaming, cherishing the moment. Dying for more. She fit him. The way she felt in his arms. The way her hips cradled his weight. The way her lips were full and her little tongue traced the seam of his. The way her pussy took him, soft and open from her previous orgasm. Tony reveled in it. Made sure he would never forget.

When it was over, when he was spent and panting in her ear. When her shaking arms were holding him so tight he waited for the remorse. The guilt. The regret.

It wasn't there. Puzzled and a little scared, he kissed her again. Kissed her until they both needed air. He pulled back, all the way off her, drinking in the sight of her debauched and sated on his sheets, legs spread and leaking with his seed. She didn't bother to try to cover up or act ashamed. She watched him with silent wide eyes. He got a wash rag, damp and brought it back. She tried to take it from him but this was his time now and he wasn't going to give it up for anything. He bathed her intimately. Kissing her skin, worshipping his Darcy the way she deserved until she was sobbing that he never leave her. That he never tire of her. That he love her. Please could he only just love her. He had to remind her that she wasn't paying attention. To open her eyes and see. Really see.

“I already do.” He said borrowing some of her stalwart. “I already love you and I'm right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this made sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I hate editing and spent two hours capitalizing all the letters and watching my sister troll some stolen valor douche bag. 
> 
> Should there be a sequel?


End file.
